Switchblade Anderson
by Calliope Faye
Summary: A mutant growing up in the big city falls in with the wrong crowd
1. Special Delivery

((Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men. But you all already knew that))  
  
[Jersey City, New Jersey-1986]  
  
Two figures stood at the back door of a large mansion on the edge of the city waiting for someone to come to the door. The first stood tense with his long coat catching the wind as his glowing red eyes scanned the night around him for any sign of a threat. In one hand, he held a rod that could extend at the touch of a button, and in the other, an ordinary deck of playing cards.  
  
The second was a huge man whose skin reflected the city lights on its metal surface. The strangest thing about the sight of this man was that, cradled in his powerful, muscular arms, was a tiny baby girl, sleeping as peacefully as if she were lying in a crib on a warm night, listening to her mother sing her a lullaby.  
  
Just then, a woman of about 40 or so opened the door with a yawn. Her brown hair, lines with the occasional strand of gray, hung loosely about her shoulders in a mass of tangles. She was dressed in a blue terrycloth robe and fluffy slippers. "Who's there? Do you have any idea what time. . ." Her sleepy eyes widened with recognition. "Oh my god! I haven't seen you in years! What brings you. . ." She stopped. An aching fear tightened in her chest as she saw her old friends' solemn expressions.  
  
"No time for pleasantries 'dis time, chere. 'Dis is an emergency."  
  
The two visitors momentarily glanced behind the woman at the four curious children who had followed their mother downstairs to see who could possibly be at the door in the middle of the night. She turned to face them and said "Conrad, Greg, take Blair and Kelly and go back to bed."  
  
"But Mommy. . ."  
  
"No buts. Do as Mommy says. Now." As the children scurried back up the stairs, their mother's eyes fell upon the infant sleeping so soundly in metal arms. "What's going on?"  
  
"Arlene," said the giant in a deep voice with a heavy Russian accent, "Ve know you have many children already, and vould not ask zis of you if ve knew of any ozer vay. Gospozha Anderson, vould you please look after her?" he indicated the slumbering child.  
  
Arlene Anderson, in all her love for children, found that she could hardly refuse. She'd already adopted six, so surely there was room for one more. She reached out and took the baby in her arms. "What's her name?"  
  
After a long pause, the man in the trench coat responded, "She don' 'ave one, Chere.  
  
Arlene looked back and forth between the two men, baffled. "Well which one of you is her father?"  
  
The two men glanced at each other. "Neizer, really. It is difficult to explain."  
  
"Where are her parents?"  
  
"She don' got none, mon ami."  
  
"They're dead?"  
  
"No, Gospozha. It is complicated, but I vill try to explain." The Russian man explained as well as he could where the little girl had come from, but time was limited. "So please zhust give her as normal a life as you can. . .And she cannot learn vat I zhust told you. It could be danzherous."  
  
Arlene nodded and looked down at her new daughter, frightened for her now by what she had just learned. She couldn't turn her away now, knowing what harm would befall the innocent child if she did. "Alright. I'll call her Jessica Leigh."  
  
The Cajun nodded and the giant leaned over and kissed the baby's forehead. "Do Svedanya, Little Zhessica. . ." With that, the two men walking away, knowing that it'd be years before they saw Arlene and Jessica again. . .IF they ever saw them again.  
  
((A/N: Gospozha=Russian for Mrs.)) 


	2. Daring Little Devil

[Jersey City, New Jersey-1996]  
  
Eleven-year-old Jessica Anderson sighed as she began the walk home from school. She'd missed the bus again because her teacher had been lecturing her on her study habits again. she thought.  
  
She stared down at the paper in her hand with a lump in her throat. The red number in the upper-right-hand corner stared up at her as if mocking her. She could have sworn that the six looked like a mouth with a tongue sticking out, and the eight looked like a pair of eyes. Another D. Why couldn't she ever get good grades like all of her brothers and sisters? A sixty-eight. . . she wondered.  
  
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even see the man in front of her until after they collided. "I'm sorry. . .I wasn't paying. . ." she gasped when she saw who it was that she'd run into. It was Miles, big brother of Jim Davis. Jim was the bully of Frank R. Conwell No. 3 E.S. Middle school. Thirteen years old, with his buddies, Adam and Steve, Jim ran the school from the seventh grade down. Everyone was afraid of them, Jess included. And Miles was ten times worse: a member of a gang called "The Sixty-Eight Guns."  
  
But, for some strange reason, fear had a different meaning for Jess: a challenge. The more dangerous it was, the more she wanted it. That was why, she supposed, she had such a crush on Jim: not because she liked him, but for the thrill of risk. But that aside, she shortly found herself surrounded by four of Miles's friends from the gang. Jim, Steve, and Adam joined them momentarily too. "What's this?" taunted Miles, "Looks like a certain little pipsqueak had better learn to watch where she's walking before she walks into trouble."  
  
"Too late," laughed another.  
  
Then Jim stepped forward. "I know you from school. You're one of those Anderson kids! Their mom's a major fashion designer with cash coming out the wazoo!"  
  
"In that case," someone added, "Mini-Anderson wouldn't mind paying us some compensation for running into Miles, would you, Tiny?"  
  
Jess's daring nature kicked in, and a grin spread from ear to ear across her face. "Not at all. . .If you can catch me!" Before any of them could react, she dove to the ground, rolled over the pavement, kicked Miles's legs out from under him, and bolted toward home.  
  
"What the. . .Hey! She's not supposed to do that, is she?!"  
  
"Does she always sound like that, Ace? She sounded like a guy!"  
  
"No, she doesn't," Jim answered, "Let her go. I'll deal with her in school tomorrow."  
Jess ran all the way home, practically flew in the door, and flung herself onto the couch, hysterical with laughter. It took her almost a full minute to calm down and realize that her big brothers, Conrad and Greg, and her little sister, Jane, were all staring at her, wide-eyed.  
  
"What?" As soon as the word was out of her lips, she clapped her hand over her mouth with a mortified expression, ran up to her room, and slammed the door behind her. Jim's voice had come out of her mouth, and it hadn't been the first time that week that something like that had happened. She sank into mattress of her bed and shook her head, wondering, 


	3. The Switchblade

The following morning, Jess came downstairs to find the butler, Alexander, setting the table, and her brother, Conrad, was in the living room examining something in the light. "Morning, Al!" she said with a smile.  
  
"Hey! What's shakin', bacon?"  
  
She laughed. "That what Mallory's cooking?"  
  
"Yeah. It should be ready soon, so why don't you get your books together while you're waiting?"  
  
Alexander was nothing like the stereotypical butlers you see on TV all the time, though. He didn't walk around the house in a tuxedo with a cloth napkin draped over his arm saying, "Will that be all, miss?" or "May I take your coat, sir?" He didn't stand up so straight that it looked like he had a metal rod in each pant leg, or talk with an English accent. He was just a regular guy who just happened to earn his living as a butler. That was what Jess liked most about him: he wasn't afraid of being himself and didn't try to mold himself to fit what people thought he "should be."  
  
She went into the living room to get her books together and looked at Conrad. Arlene had adopted him when he was five, and he was the oldest. Since Arlene was a single mother, he was sort of the man of the house. He was eighteen, and lived at home, but was going into medical school the next August so he could become a doctor. Arlene was so proud of him! Everyone was.  
  
"What'cha got there?" she asked, walking over to him.  
  
"A switchblade." He held it up for her to see. The handle was engraved with the letters "C.R.A." He pushed a tiny button with his thumb and the blade came flying out, glinting in the light. It was so shiny and new that she could see her reflection on its metal surface.  
  
"Awesome! Can I try?"  
  
"No." he said, putting it in his pocket. "It's not a toy. You'd have to know how to use it or it could be dangerous. Someone could get hurt, kiddo."  
  
"Then you'll teach me, right?"  
  
"Maybe someday, J-Girl, but not today."  
  
"Breakfast!" called Mallory from the kitchen. Jess and her seven brothers and sisters filed in and sat down. Mallory was their cook. She and Alexander were not related to the Andersons, but they were as much a part of the family as any of the kids.  
  
Breakfast went pretty much the same as it always did: five different conversations all going on at once, the words "pass the" coming from every direction, and the clanging of silverware on plates. Occasionally, two- year-old Matt would fling something across the room for Alexander to clean up later. Pretty humdrum.  
  
Then everyone started out the door to the bus stop. Jess stopped in the doorway and glanced behind her. "Bye, Arlene!" but she didn't get an answer. Arlene was too busy feeding Matt, as usual. With a sigh, Jess closed the door behind her and walked to the bus stop.  
  
She didn't resent Arlene for not being able to give her undivided attention to her. She was a single mother with a job, earning a living and raising eight kids. She had to respect that, knowing that it was no easy task. There was no way she'd ever be able to have time for all of them individually. She understood completely. But. . .still. . .That didn't mean it wouldn't be nice to be closer to her mother. 


	4. The Challenge

Jess quickly pushed the loneliness to the back of her mind as she sat on the bus between her friends, Nikita and Mick. She loved watching their faces as she told them about her run-in with Jim and Miles the day before. Their expressions were priceless! It looked like their eyes were going to pop out of their heads!  
  
"You said that to MILES?!" shrieked Nikol, "Are you NUTS?!"  
  
"Well," she said, shrugging with false modesty, "It was better than just standing there are letting him pound my face in without any challenge at all, right?"  
  
"Y...yeah, I guess," said Mick, but his face was pale and he looked almost ready to pass out at the thought of what could have happened to her. But that just made Jess laugh.  
  
"You guys worry too much. Trust me. I can take care of myself."  
  
The bus lurched to a stop and Jess stood and started out before her friends could respond. Jim was waiting for her when she got off the bus, Steve and Adam on either side of him looking intimidating. She grinned as they encircled her, Nikita, and Mick. She could see them shaking out of the corner of her eye, but happy-go-lucky Jess could never and would never let anyone see her sweat.  
  
"You left the party early yesterday, Anderson," said Jim in a taunting voice.  
  
"And I suppose you came to return my glass slipper, right Jimmy?"  
  
Jim was a little taken aback, but recovered quickly. "You could say that, since you and I are gonna dance after school. And I DON'T mean the Charleston."  
  
"Uh. . .Sh. . .She's got p. . .plans. . ." stammered Nikita.  
  
"Really? Well I hope for your sake she cancels them, because if she doesn't show up, we'll have to come looking for all three of you."  
  
"No worries, Jim," said Jess, stepping forward, "I'll be there. It's on."  
  
"Great. You're going down, Anderson."  
  
"We'll see about that."  
  
"I can't believe you'd fight a girl!" cried Mick.  
  
Jim turned to face him. "Would you prefer it if I fought you, pipsqueak?"  
  
"I. . .I. . .uh. . .I just. . .er. . ."  
  
"That's what I thought. After school, Anderson. Liberty Park. Be there."  
  
"Count on it." Jess watched the three bullies strut arrogantly toward the building. Nikita grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to look her in the face.  
  
"Are you CRAZY?! You can't fight Jim Davis!"  
  
"Give me one good reason why not."  
  
"He'll MAUL you, J-Girl! You're gonna get yourself killed!"  
  
She just shrugged her shoulders. "Even so, it's against my policy to back away from a challenge. And Mick? You may want to change your pants. They're a little damp." With that, she turned and headed into the school building. 


End file.
